After four years living the single life, it’s decided that I, London Stuart, am back on the market. I’m not even mad when my cousins and best friends put my name down for the speed-dating sessions. In fact, I’m actually a little excited about it. But then one of my dates turns out to be my six-year-old son’s irresistibly sexy soccer coach - his irresistibly sexy British soccer coach. 

Am I friends with JP Cane? Ha! That's laughable. Besides the fact that he’s adopted some far-fetched notion from the movie When Harry Met Sally that says men and women can't be friends and work together, it’s safe to say we're not friends. He's annoyingly loud, obnoxiously handsome, and has made an art out of poking all my hot buttons...multiple times a day. So you can imagine how disgruntled I am when I not only have to fly to San Francisco with him for work, but stay in the same penthouse. Yup, we're sharing the same air, 24-7. We're talking full-fledged working roommates.

There’s nothing like starting your Monday morning with a positive pregnancy test. Trust me, I know - because I’m looking at one right now. All I can think is this: Oh, hell. My grandmother is going to kill me. Since this might just send her to an early grave, there’s only one option - pretending the father is my new husband. If only he’ll agree to fake it. Kai Connors was supposed to be nothing more than a one-night stand - a long, dirty one-night stand fueled by one too many tequila shots, where the only promise was to never speak of it again. 

Bad idea number 241: sending a dirty text to your number neighbor. In my defense, my friends did it, too, and their neighbors took it as the joke it was. Mine didn't. He responded with a dirty text of his own. Next thing I know, I have a standing texting date every night at 10:30. Until I have to miss it because the stray kitten who adopted me one week ago is sick. The only person I know who can help me at this time of night is my British next-door neighbor and local vet, Isaac Cooper.

I knocked up my best friend's sister. Let's start with how she decided to inform me and Pacey the news...together. Imagine that nightmare. I was going into what I thought was a hockey marketing meeting, and then bam! I'm going to be a dad and my best friend/teammate is attempting to imprint my face with his fist. Threats were tossed around, friendships were revoked, and then I was marched up to her apartment, suitcases in hand, and forced to live with her so I could take care of her every need. Now I'm finding it harder and harder not to fall for my best friend's little sister.

Rex “TW” McMurtry’s perpetual singlehood wouldn’t bother him so much if all his ex-girlfriends didn’t keep marrying the very next person they dated, especially when so many of those grooms are his closest friends. He may be a pro-football defensive end for the Chicago Squalls, but the press only wants to talk about how he’s always a groomsman and never a groom. Bartender Abigail McNerny is the gal-pal, the wing-woman, the she-BFF. Abby is convinced no one on earth could ever entice her into a romantic relationship...except that one guy she’s loved since preschool.

I just moved in with my billionaire best friend (and secret crush), Oliver Humphries. He’s the all-star. The jock. The golden boy. And I’m no match. I’m the nerdy, frizzy-haired, not-so-skinny friend. The moment I met him at 14, I was in L-O-V-E. I’m under no illusion I stand a chance. Living with him? Not a problem. 

Hockey star Max Yearwood was everything I needed at the time - fun, sexy, up for anything, and only around for a few months, since he’d signed with a new team 3,000 miles away. Max proposed we spend the summer helping me forget my ex. It sounded like a good plan. Things couldn’t get too serious when we had an expiration date. Right? Though, you know what they say about the best-laid plans. 

The quintessential question asked to every couple. And the answer is usually some bubbly, lovey dovey tale of being struck in the bum by Cupid’s arrow. My meet cute (well, not so meet cute) is slightly different. I was trolling a wealthy neighborhood in Beverly Hills, searching for someone to take me as their bride, you know, to make my arch nemesis jealous who consequently just fired me. 

I’ve loved him from afar. Though most times he’s only a foot away. I’m smart enough to know he’ll never be anyone’s forever. He checks all the bad boy boxes. If he wasn’t my neighbor and friend, I may have thrown myself at him. Okay, I wouldn’t. Instead, I pathetically savor morsels of moments where I have his sole attention. That was until his archenemy moved in with me. Now suddenly, Dylan’s moving in, too, and warning off the first guy in a long time who’s showing me interest.

After a horrible marriage, Haggard has zero plans of ever finding a woman again. One-night stands not counting, he adores his life as a single man. There are no expectations. No "where are yous" and "are you coming homes". The life he chooses to live is a simple one. Until he makes a huge mistake, and he steps over that line between "daughter’s best friend" and "a woman he desperately wants". Before long, he can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop wanting her. Can’t stop feeling things for her that a man 20 years her senior should never feel for a girl he watched grow up.

CEO millionaire Max Fletcher is a single dad in desperate need of a nanny. Cozy Barlow is in the middle of her self-appointed “gap year” and doing everything she can to detach from her past. But when her sister begs her to interview for the nanny position of a high-maintenance client, she doesn’t have a good enough reason to say no. And when Max locks eyes on the 20-something in a tie-dye sweat suit who pitches the idea of daydreaming all summer—he prepares to give this bad nanny the boot.

He’s the devil himself: Damon Copeland (he practically carries a pitchfork), fiery-hot, a torturously sexy body, and a killer smile (if he ever smiled). He’s also the top dog at my father’s company and my brother’s best friend. Oh, and someone I accidentally slept with. In my defense, that was before I knew who he was and before he hired me. Now, my one-night stand has turned into my boss. What’s worse, he’s Mr. Bosshole Superior: brutish, broody, and impatient. He’s also 6’4". And I’m pretty sure he hates me. But it’s not as if I planned any of this.

My mother's New Year's resolution for me was simple: make a serious effort at putting myself out there and dating again and do it for one full year. Or, until I fell in love. Whichever came first. How hard could one year of swipes and matches and awkward first dates be? In a word: bad. In nine words: bad and also hilarious, demoralizing, exhausting, and ridiculously amusing.

"She went home with someone else that night?" I would like to make it known, I have a lot more swagger than what it seems. I don't normally ask a girl out, have her fail to recognize it's a date, and then give me a high five - as if I'm her wingman - and take off with someone else. No. Normally I'm the one taking the girl home, but with Stella, it's been one failed attempt after another and frankly, I'm done trying. But thanks to my best friend getting married in Hawaii right before the school year starts, I'm stuck on a tropical island.